


love (i get so lost sometimes)

by YouCanCallMeAlf (AlfAlfAlfAlfAlf)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Crying, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, Forehead Touching, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Hair Braiding, Healthy Relationships, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, I was listening to In Your Eyes and just went a bit feral, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Intimacy, M/M, Me projecting DIRECTLY onto crowley, Mutual Pining, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, References to Shakespeare, Tenderness, and my therapist likes me to deal with my issues so here ya go, anxiety attack, discussion of past sexual abuse (not explicit), emotional declarations of love, established relationship (chapter two), flexing my brain knowledge as a Religion major, i guess basphemy?, lots of kisses, perhaps i listened to a lot of Peter Gabriel and felt raw, references to pogroms, religious crises, stealing a plot point from remington steele, wine tasting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-09-29 19:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20441357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlfAlfAlfAlfAlf/pseuds/YouCanCallMeAlf
Summary: “Crowley, my dear, you are here with me, you are safe.”He caught the demon’s gaze and thought he saw a bit of the pain fall away from his eyes.“No one will hurt you again, I swear to you. Do you believe me?”Do I believe you? Crowley thought to himself. Fucking heaven if only I could.





	1. i look to the time with you, to keep me awake and alive

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah this is really just me projecting my situation directly onto poor crowley, because right now i really need to give myself a happy ending

It finally happened one night, on a Thursday. Everything had been perfectly normal since the averted apocalypse, people had continued with their day jobs, fledgling birds had taken their first steps, and an angel and a demon had enjoyed each other’s company. Which had been lovely, although it possessed a timid and wary energy, like a tortoise peeking out to see if the intruding children poking its shell have yet gone away.

They had settled into a companionate rhythm; Lunch on Mondays, dinner on Tuesdays, dinner and drinks on Wednesdays, just drinks on Thursdays, and a stroll in the park on Fridays topped off with the promise of brunch on the following weekend. This was simultaneously the fastest and slowest they had moved in their relationship. They saw each other daily, yes, but Crowley couldn’t help but feel they had reached a road block in their conversation.

He had eaten small portions of the same meals for weeks and drank the same coffee and heard absolutely everything there was to know about an admittedly fascinating Italian nun Aziraphale had known in the 16th century.

“Benedetta was quite something you know, we met when she tried to summon an angel to help throw the church off the trail of her lover Bartholomea, and let me tell you she had a creative solution to their problem!”

It wasn’t that Crowley was particularly bored either. Boredom and immortality do not mix well generally, and he kept himself entertained well enough to survive the decades. It was just that he had thought things might have been different after the Notapocalypse, considering how their respective sides had sealed off communication and they were apparently free to live as they wished. But Aziraphale, stalwart and stubborn as ever, was content with what they had, which mostly consisted of shared meals and telling each other about long-dead people they once met.

And wasn’t he right? It was comfortable and familiar, but maybe the angel could tell that his companion was growing tired of their paths oft taken for he suggested much to both parties surprise that they forgo the traditional Tipsy-Thursday and head to a newly opened wine bar not far from Aziraphale’s bookshop.

Much to his disappointment, however, and Crowley’s despair, the wine bar, A Glass 2/3 full, was full of rich hipster types, the kind who talk about moving to Bali in a few years after their bitcoin venture pans out.

_Never intended for that one to work out._ Crowley thought, not noticing the curious yet aggressive glances he was getting from the group of finance bros in the last booth to the left.

Crowley had chosen to wear what he thought was a very fashionable and very flattering black dress but that actually reminded the viewer more of the type of attire former child actors wore to red carpets in 2010. Luckily the primary onlooker was an angel who hadn’t bought new pants since 1893 and wouldn’t discern the slightly off choice in clothing. _Besides_, Aziraphale thought, _it goes nicely with his hair_.

They had ordered some middling-ly fancy whites (no reds, the histamines gave Aziraphale terrible headaches that really shouldn’t be a problem for an ethereal being) and had been chatting idly about the awful décor in the place.

“Really, all this deconstructed nonsense makes me feel as if I’m in that fussy Swedish shoppe with all the chairs!”

Crowley nodded along with his companion and mentally bookmarked Ikea as an ideal place for some light demonic subterfuge.

This continued for quite some time until their server arrived to give them two glasses of the fancy white with a single green grape in each and the promise of more on the way. Four glasses in and now Crowley was the one with the headache.

“Well, do what do you think of it my dear?” Aziraphale asked, watching Crowley intently for signs of approval. The demon grimaced, reaching his hand up to remove his dark glasses and rub at his sore temples.

“It’s too sweet for my tastes. Prefer something a bit older and deeper.”

Truthfully the wine wasn’t that bad, the supplier had actually been steeling award-winning grapes from a neighboring vineyard run by a monastery as his own soil was infertile, and sold it illegally under his own label. However good wine isn’t produced solely by the quality of the grapes but also the thought and care poured into them, combining prize winning Love with peptides.

But Crowley simply wasn’t in the mood to taste the Love the monks had sowed into the vineyard and instead felt sick with the sweetness that coated the back of his throat and threatened to choke him with its unearned adoration.

_‘__s only grapes, after all._ Crowley thought demurely.

He had been using the cover of his hand at his forehead to peer at the group of young men who kept meeting his gaze and holding it. Imperceptibly even to himself Crowley tensed and curled up tighter in his chair. Aziraphale noticed though. He was frowning at Crowley in barely closeted worry and leaned in closer to gently take his free hand and rub comforting circles on the palm.

“My dear boy, are you quite alright? You seem to be in pain, and I don’t know if I caused it unintentionally or maybe if-“

Crowley didn’t really catch the rest of his ramblings, as all his senses had suddenly stopped their wary scan of the room and focused intently on the warm thumb caressing his open palm. _Almost lovingly_. Crowley wondered, then caught himself and scared the thought away with a mental snarl. Against every lonely instinct he retracted his hand from Aziraphale’s and crossed his arms protectively to his body.

“ ‘M fine, just a small headache is all.”

This didn’t seem to placate all the angel’s worries, but he seemed less desperate for an answer.

“Oh. Well then, I’ll go pay the bill and we can leave so you may lie down for a while.”

Aziraphale left and Crowley let all the pain he was holding back rush to his head unhindered.

**_You should be used to this, demon,_** said the voice from the pit, _**you should almost crave the pain, the suffering**_. Crowley just waved his hand around his face as if to dispel the thought. _I’m just having one of those off days, it isn’t always like this, need to remember that. It’s okay sometimes._

If Crowley had been paying attention to anything that wasn’t the pulsing headache and the tired muscles in his shoulders, he might have noticed the man standing in front of him with a well-drained glass in his hand.

If it had been any other day, if Crowley hadn’t been physically and mentally exhausted from the general wear and tear of living every day as Crowley things might have gone over without too much fuss. The man would be summarily rejected and suddenly remember that he had his annual presentation in front of his boss and the entire board of trustees tomorrow and he hadn’t even started a proposal and that would be it.

Crowley would have been fine and joined Aziraphale for a mug of cocoa before heading back to his flat. Unfortunately for all parties, that is not what happened.

“Hey baby, how’s it going?” The man’s slightly whiney voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard to the demon’s sensitive ears.

He moved in closer to Crowley, effectively caging him in place with his cuff-linked forearms. Crowley had stopped rubbing tiredly at his forehead and looked up startled by the aggressive stranger. The man suddenly gripped his stocking covered thigh possessively and leaned into his ear to whisper in cliché.

“Did it hurt when you fell from heaven, honey? I’ve been watching you from across the room, and I’d like to take that dress off you and-“

Crowley had stopped listening, a strange ringing instead filling his ears and a deep, deep fear that he hadn’t felt in so long permeating every cell in his body. _Not again, please God- Somebody, not again. I won’t survive it._

He felt frozen in place and time, although he knew distantly that linear events continued to progress around him as the man’s grip tightened and he could see Aziraphale at the front paying for their drinks and the hand was sliding and he couldn’t he just couldn’t move and it was going to happen again he was sure of it and he would die this time and he couldn’t move and he couldn’t move and-

Aziraphale had only just become aware of the troubles back at his table, as waves of crippling fear washed over him from an external source, and the angel was suddenly aware of the man looming over Crowley, and the palpable terror that the demon exuded with every tiny breath. In less than the time it takes a human heart to pump a beat Aziraphale had pushed the man off his companion and snapped them unnoticed by the rest of the patrons.

Effectively invisible to the world, Aziraphale looked worriedly at the demon, but the flat and dazed stare of an animal in pain greeted him instead of his friend.

“Crowley? Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

Crowley wouldn’t meet his eyeline and looked vacantly into a middle distance, face ashen and arms wrapped tightly around his torso as if trying to protect himself from an incoming assault. Aziraphale tried to gently take his hand but the demon flinched violently as if struck and began to tremble again. This time he seemed to be a bit more aware of his surroundings, and simply uttered the word “please.”

Aziraphale understood immediately and with a minor miracle transported them back to his bookshop. Crowley didn’t react to their change in scenery and continued looking blankly at the walls, eyes unfocused but clearly seeing something the angel wasn’t. Aziraphale stepped closer to him, cautious not to make any sudden movements that might frighten his companion further and picked up a tartan blanket that was actually not that unstylish.

“Dearest, we are in my bookshop, I am holding a blanket, may I put it around you? It might help you calm down.”

Crowley nodded almost imperceptibly and only shuddered slightly as Aziraphale carefully draped it over his shoulders. While the soft fabric didn’t bring immediate comfort, after about ten minutes Crowley seemed to have regained some muscular control and began to cross and uncross his legs nervously. Five minutes more and he finally turned his head to face the angel sitting wordlessly and worriedly beside him. _There was so much pain in those amber drip eyes_, Aziraphale thought,_ and so little faith that it would ever end. _

“Crowley? Can you tell me what happened?”

Aziraphale hoped there was an easily remedied explanation for this, preferably one that could be sorted out with copious amounts of tea, but he suspected not. Crowley seemed to be wrestling with the right thing to say, but eventually landed on excessive apology.

“Angel I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to I’m so sorry, we can go back I just couldn’t, and I didn’t mean to make you upset and I’m so so sorry.”

The rush of sorrow that poured out of his heartbroken gaze nearly shattered Aziraphale.

“Crowley I-“

But the fallen angel pressed on, eyes growing slightly manic and still terrified.

“It will never happen again I’ll make sure of it and I’m so sorry I’ll make it up to you and I shouldn’t have done that and please please don’t hate me I didn’t mean to ruin the evening and I am so so sorry and I-“

Aziraphale cut his ramblings off with a slightly more forceful “Crowley.”

The demon’s jaw snapped shut and his wide eyes were suddenly affixed to the angel’s, and Aziraphale wondered if that had been the right course of action.

“Dearest, you have nothing to apologize for. I’m just trying to figure out what caused this reaction so I can make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

At that Crowley let out a soft shriek and his eyes began darting around the room once more.

“You can’t make sure it doesn’t happen again, you can’t, you just can’t-“

Before he could work himself up into a panic again Aziraphale placed a grounding hand on the demon’s pale and shaking one, who miraculously let him keep it there. Aziraphale remembered the training course he had taken in the early 90’s on crisis management and began to breathe loudly and steadily until Crowley unconsciously began to match his, panic slowly ebbing away as he stopped hyperventilating.

“Darling, can you tell me, what can’t I make sure doesn’t happen?”

Aziraphale had a feeling he knew the answer, but he needed confirmation before he could help his friend any further. Now that Crowley had finally seemed to come back to his body his face twisted in anguish and those serpentine eyes welled with tears.

“They’ll hurt me again. They’ll do it again and I’ll do nothing to stop them. I couldn’t before and I can’t now.”

The demon shook his head at Aziraphale’s intake of breath.

“You can’t be sure. You can’t you just can’t-“

The tears flowed freely now and dripped off his nose onto the blanket.

“I didn’t stop him before and it hurt so much and I couldn’t do anything and it was going to happen again and-“

The demon’s eyes began to haze over again and Aziraphale quickly began to rub the same soothing circles on his palm. The angel felt a bit like crying too but couldn’t let that get in the way of making the scared creature in front of him feel better.

“Crowley, my dear, you are here with me, you are safe.”

He caught the demon’s gaze and thought he saw a bit of the pain fall away from them.

“No one will hurt you again, I swear to you. Do you believe me?”

_Do I believe you?_ Crowley thought to himself. _Fucking heaven if only I could._

“I-“ He took a deep breath from the stranglehold his lungs were in.

“Angel I can’t I’m sorry, I want to but I- fu- I just-“ Crowley made the mistake of meeting Aziraphale’s worried eyes, and immediately regretted putting that pain there.

“Fuck, I didn’t- please forgive me. I trust you I really do- but I just can’t believe- I’m so sorry-” The panic began to rise in his throat again, weighing him down and immobilizing his legs. That man had touched him and kept him pinned and Aziraphale wasn’t there and he would-

“My darling Crowley, you have nothing to apologize for-“

Aziraphale’s kind voice broke through the memory like a ray of sun on a foggy bank.

“While I feel there is nothing to forgive, I will forgive you always, and I’m so sorry that whatever happened happened to you. I’m here now and you are safe with me.”

The demon felt some previously whole part of himself break off and collapsed further into himself at the display of unbridled kindness and empathy radiating off his angel. _**This is far more than you deserve you weak, cowardly, repulsive**_\- Crowley cut the voice off with a fresh round of sobs, letting himself feel every bit of the pain for a second, and cried freely and wretchedly in front of this ethereal being. Dimly he felt the soft hand on his trail gentle touches over his fingers, lacing them in the angel’s in something he definitely mistook for adoration.

“Crowley? You don’t ever have to tell me, but I need to know how I can help you, even if it’s just sitting here with you or holding you or anything, my dear, anything you need.”

Aziraphale’s tone was so soft, so gentle, so safe, that Crowley felt himself begin to speak before he felt his mouth move.

“It- it hurt so much, angel. A-and it was so long ago that it shouldn’t still hurt so much. But it does.”

Aziraphale squeezed his hand lightly in reassurance that he was still there, and Crowley was still safe.

“He—he held me down, and I couldn’t move, and there was so much pain, and fear, and I-I thought I would die-“

He paused to shake his head at the angel’s questioning look. “Not discorporate die, but Really die. Holy water and melted-in-a-puddle die.” Crowley felt his too human heart clench painfully. “And- and I didn’t do anything. I-I just lay there and let it happen, angel, I Let it happen.”

He felt a wave of hot stabbing shame wash over him and curl around his throat.

“Why the heaven didn’t I do anything? I could have so why in Someone’s Fucking Name didn’t I do anything!”

Crowley suddenly tore himself away from the angel sitting patiently by his side and threw himself down on the opposite side of the room, not ready to have such an attentive audience to his shame and horror. His hands scraped at his hair and yanked at the long braid he had so carefully done up earlier in the evening as rage over took his limbs.

“You! You saw me!” He pointed generally at Aziraphale, who looked shocked at the demon’s sudden anger and whispered confusedly,

“Me?”

“Yes! You saw me at the end of the world! For fuc-Somebody’s sake I stopped Time! I-lookit this!” He gestured at the snake inked into his skin.

“Demon! Fucking Demon! One of Hell’s actual Fucking Demons!” The tears had started to leak again.

“I’m not some poor human who can’t be blamed for their fucking mammalian fucking weakness, I’m supposed to be above all that!” He stood up sharply and felt his ankle roll slightly, and began pacing around the room, hand still fretting at his hair.

“Why didn’t I do anything? Why don’t I ever do anything? I always let them- every time- and- and-“

His ankle gave out right as he reached the back of Aziraphale’s chair, collapsing again on the ground in a pile of what were typically considered bones but that even an early Linnaean society wouldn’t categorize as bones. Aziraphale had leapt to his feet and was knelt before the demon, careful not to touch him in his agitated state.

“Crowley, my darling, you needn’t blame yourself for the sins of others, especially those done unto you,” He ducked his head to meet Crowley’s eyeline.

“Whoever hurt you was the true Evil in this world, and I will never tell you that this was in anyway your fault.” Crowley stared back at him, honeyed eyes meeting the angel’s wine-dark gaze and felt the last hideous admission wrench from him.

“It didn’t look Evil.”

Aziraphale’s brow furrowed in confusion. “It didn’t-“

“It didn’t look Evil, not to anyone else at least.” _Might as well go for broke_. And the truth spilt from his lips.

“There was a beautiful sunset, and the light spilled over the hills and basked everything in warmth, and I was screaming, and no one thought to help the woman whose cries rang around the valley. Why would they have anyway, technically I was his property.” He finished dully, crying silently now.

Aziraphale was far too quiet for far too long, enough so that the demon began to spiral down again. _That’s it._ Crowley thought. _He’ll never look at me the same way again. Might as well pack up tonight and be done with it, a clean break._

“Angel?” He whispered. “Can you ever forgive me?”

Crowley already knew the answer to that question; No, obviously.

“Please say something.”

This seemed to snap Aziraphale out of whatever train of thought he was currently boarding at, and there was an intensity in his eyes that Crowley didn’t like.

“Crowley,” He began, and the demon felt the cold drip of ice water down his spine. _Here it comes_.

“I know I’m not always as direct with my words as I need to be, but please listen to me.” His lip trembled slightly.

“I will sooner Fall from Her Grace than let you be hurt again, and I will sooner be renamed the Angel of Wrath and Destruction of All Luxuries before the day I could ever think to hate you.” Feeling brave, Aziraphale grasped Crowley’s hand tightly in his and bound their hands together with the ribbon from his bookmark.

“I swear on Her Name, Our Lord and Creator, that I will care for you into eternity, and far past this reality,” He took a deep breath.

“A-and I would be your Guardian as I was of the Eastern Gate so long ago.” _Now for the big one_, Aziraphale couldn’t look at Crowley for fear of what he might see.

“And I will never, ever, cease loving you for whatever faults you ascribe to yourself and instead would pull you from the Pit of Fear you have been trapped in, and I will never look back in doubt, for I Know you and will never leave your side for as long as you permit me and my affections.”

The ribbon woven through their hands glowed brightly in a color imperceptible to the human eye but that was a favorite hue of the mantis shrimp, not that either party noticed, too stricken by the gravity of the Promise being made.

“I make this Bond asking nothing in return but your faith in my Love for you, which has been inscribed on my soul and cannot be erased by time or distance. I pray in time your heart can find its own forgiveness but until then, I will offer all of mine freely to you, without amendment or clause, until **God** Herself Falls from Heaven.”

Aziraphale’s Promise rang True along the cosmos, although the Earth only felt a brief dip in water pressure world-wide as any clue that something truly enormous had happened.

The angel unbound their hand and looked tentatively at the demon, who seemed to be on the verge of passing out. His eyes fluttered closed and his hands shook once more.

“Crowley? Dearest? Are you oka-“ Aziraphale didn’t get to finish his sentence as Crowley flung himself into his arms and wrapped his spindly form over Aziraphale’s in a tight, desperate embrace and screamed. Not a scream of pain or fear, but of extreme emotional catharsis as he let himself be held by the angel and wept openly in his arms.

Sometime later, Crowley had come back to himself and the sobs that wracked his thin frame lessened. Aziraphale moved his hand cautiously to the demon’s hair and stroked the wrecked braid tenderly as he softly hummed some comfort to his crying friend.

“My love, my dearest, you are so very safe with me.” He whispered softly, and Crowley finally lifted his head from the angel’s shoulder, which was wet with acidic tears that would definitely not come out with any known stain remover.

Crowley’s mouth gaped like a fish and the only sound that came out was a faint choked-off hissing not dissimilar to a balloon animal losing its air. Crowley’s eyes, so vulnerable and open, now carried less pain and the lines around his still open mouth creased upwards into a small, disbelieving smile.

“Angel-Aziraphale- I-I”

Crowley cut himself off this time and instead leaned forward to press his forehead to the angel’s, and breathed in the same air as his love, feeling the safest he had ever felt in his arms.

“Angel,” He croaked out eventually.

“I know I can’t make a Promise to Her as you can, but I swear on Your Name, Aziraphale, that I Love you and Know you as unendingly as faith itself.” Their noses touched as the demon poured out what was left of his untarnished soul into the air.

“I would live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes.” Crowley finished, smiling wholly and without fear.

“I did always love that line.” Aziraphale whispered back, his own beaming grin inches from Crowley’s. “A shame I never got to play his part.”

Crowley laughed, and to Aziraphale’s ears it sounded more melodious and angelic than any of the actual angelic choirs, which dreadfully only covered songs in the public domain.

“I would have made a good Beatrice, don’t you think?” Crowley asked gayly.

Aziraphale stroked his head tenderly. “Of course, my darling, you would be a righteous vision.”

Crowley chuckled and relaxed further against the angel’s soft body. “Aziraphale, I- I trust you. Please know that, but-“

He stopped himself, suddenly afraid to ask for too much.

Aziraphale gently cupped his thin face in his hand and nuzzled his nose against the demon’s. “Anything, dear heart.”

Crowley melted again against the angel. “I-I know I’ve craved this forever, but I really need to take this slow, physically at least, if that’s something you want.”

“Only if you do, darling, I would never want to make you uncomfortable. May I suggest we start with a couple of ground rules to ensure your safety?”

Crowley reeled at that and felt himself fall impossibly more in love with his angel.

“Yeah, uh, that would be incredible, um,” He pulled his face out of Aziraphale’s reach in order to look him squarely in the eye, trusting.

“Uh, please don’t get directly on top of me or hold me down, and before you do anything please tell me what you’re going to do so I know.” Crowley was feeling braver and more empowered already.

“And please don’t hurt me,” He hurried to finish before Aziraphale could speak. "Not that I think you would because I trust you and I know you won’t, but- please don’t. That’s it.”

Crowley’s eyes darted to the angel’s, afraid to see some form of disappointment in them, but instead was met only with adoration and empathy. 

"My darling Crowley, of course. Anything for you.” He reached out again to caress the demon’s face and resumed stroking his tear stained cheek. “May I ask for one thing?”

Crowley tamped down the lying voice from the pit that whispered **_be afraid_** and instead nodded.

“May I kiss you? It’s alright if you don’t wish to, but I so desperately want to show you how I care.”

Crowley felt lightheaded with the love pouring off the ethereal being holding him in his arms, and it was all he could do not to scream _yes, yes, please I love you_ and instead whisper, “You may.”

Aziraphale’s lips were soft and warm on his, chastely imprinting Love onto him as the angel’s thumb softly caressed his cheek and it was so good and so much and Crowley had never been happier to be Known.

They finally broke apart after their oddly human lungs gasped for oxygen and held each other close. Aziraphale breathed in the tamarind scent of Crowley’s conditioner and knew that he could happily die this way.

Crowley sighed and snugged deeper into the embrace. “Aziraphale? Could I stay here tonight? If it’s not too much of a bother.”

His angel raised a hand to his chin and gently kissed his cheek. “Stay with me forever, please.” Crowley nodded; eyes wide with unspoken emotion.

“Until then, dear heart, could I offer you a drink? You must be parched after tonight.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Angel, I think alcohol is the last thing we need now.” _Maybe ever, Jesus fucking Judas_.

Aziraphale shook his head, golden curls catching in the light like fool’s gold in a pan.

“Actually, dearest, I was thinking we could have that lavender tea you bought me, and then perhaps I could hold you for a while by the fire.” The small anxious smile that graced the angel’s lips nearly brought Crowley to tears, but he had cried enough for one night.

“That sounds like heave-no, uh, somewhere, uh” _Home_? A new voice, Hope maybe, supplied. Yeah, that would do perfectly. “Home, that sounds like Home.”

Aziraphale beamed, giddy with joy, and Crowley knew, as they snuggled together by the fire and sipped their tea, that he could fall again and again, and would always land safely in the arms of his angel. 

Things wouldn't immediately become easier, but it was a start. And to Crowley it really did feel like the first day of the rest of his life.


	2. if i only could, i’d make a deal with God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lecture on religious thought provokes an anxiety attack in Crowley, and as always, God is silent.  
Luckily Aziraphale is there to help.

Things went very wrong for a second time four months after the initial incident. It was stupid really, the circumstances leading up to the break. Aziraphale had dragged Crowley to a lecture series on _Divinity and Religious Thought in the Late Antiquities Period_ because the flyer posted outside their favorite breakfast spot had promised a showing of rare Hebrew texts and some early attempts at print work.

It started far too early in the morning, and the coffee provided was barely above the airport standard. Aziraphale fit in perfectly with the tweed jacketed academics and their Hawaiian shirted colleagues, while Crowley found himself hiding in the back looking like a former member of the Ramones. By the third presenter Crowley was seriously considering miracling two small sticks to prop his eyelids open, although the coffee was just passable enough for him to drink two or seven more cups.

“Angel,” Crowley tapped Aziraphale’s shoulder lightly. “I’m getting more of that tar drink, want anything from the snack table?”

Aziraphale was too engaged in the woman’s speech to communicate with anything more than a small head shake and a dismissive “Off you go...”

Crowley shrugged and slithered out of his uncomfortable seat, purposely stepping on a few peoples’ toes as he went by them. Ignoring the harrumphs and grunts from the grad students he ended up lurking behind the donut platter before wrapping an old fashion up for Aziraphale for later. The coffee tasted terrible, but that wasn’t the important element, and he may have Willed it just a tad stronger. Truthfully, the demon had always detested the black pitch he was drinking, but at this point in his very long life he was essentially subsisting off of depressants and stimulants, and he had forgotten his wine flask at home.

_Alright then_, he thought demurely, _fuck it, I’ll be awake for week. _

Any observer watching Crowley at this point might have stopped and said _Sir, please, do not drink eight cups of very strong coffee in a row. This is very bad for you, and that amount of caffeine is surely not good for your brain. _Crowley, however, had left his common sense in his other jacket.

Eight empty cups soon littered the table, and hoo boy did that do the trick. Had it always been so hot in there? He felt an odd itch under his collar, and everything looked more three-dimensional than usual. The lights seemed very bright suddenly, and no one noticed the demon by the snack bar having a small crisis. _Whoo-ee_, thought Crowley.

He quickly returned to the back and shakily climbed over the top of his chair. Aziraphale was still taking careful notes on everything the woman said and turned his head briefly to flash a quick smile at the demon before returning to the lecture.

Crowley tapped his shoulder briefly against the angel’s in greeting and began his quest of sitting statuesque and attentive beside his partner. Not that it worked, eight cups of coffee tend to make anyone, human or other, a tad antsy.

Sure enough, Crowley found that he couldn’t stop fidgeting, and his leg bounced up and down incessantly as dread curled in his stomach for seemingly no reason.

Trying not to draw further attention to himself he carefully held his hand parallel to the ground out of the angel’s eye line and saw that it trembled violently. _Might have over done it, _he thought. _Fine. It’s fine, it’ll be done soon, and we can go home. Soon. _

Crowley had found himself spacing out frequently throughout the morning, but the woman up front suddenly began a new tangent.

“Theodicy,” the woman explained, “is the answer to the question of why a Good God allows evil to persist in the world. That is, God’s divine plan is unknowable, yet we can conclude that a Good God allows evil in the world as a form of heavenly vengeance. In St. Augustine’s credo…”

Crowley lamented the days when you could throw rotten fruit at anyone on stage that you didn’t agree with. _Pff. What do you know about heavenly vengeance? If I did a headcount of everyone in this room that’s felt Her vengeance it’d be me and the man by the exit with the checker patterned baldness. _

The speaker clicked her button to the next slide, now showing an oil painting of an older Ashkenazi woman in traditional dress.

“Women’s notions of theodicy vary widely in historical accounts, partly due to the anthropological poverty present in the remaining records of women’s stories, which have been erased through acts of intellectual violence.” _Is this lecture supposed to make me feel stupid? _Crowley didn’t like feeling stupid, and he felt even worse after listening to the next part of her speech.

“One account from modern day Prague concerns a woman named Rachel who was forced to submit to her rape to prevent the un-halakhic marriages of several young girls to Cossack men during a precursor to the Pogroms.” The next slide flashed up on the wall, showing a faded document in ornate Yiddish. 

“In her ethical wills to her children years later, she details her trauma and the ensuing theological crisis that befell her, saying, ‘If this be heavenly vengeance, then I am a sinner. If this be the work of evil, then I am a saint.’ Rachel’s tortured words speak to how many women felt betrayed by the lack of compassion displayed by God, and in the early modern period many communities…”

Of course, Crowley didn’t hear the end of the sentence. That all too familiar ringing had started in his ears and he felt his heart beat in a fast syncopated rhythm. _How. How did she know. Too specific. Way too specific. Fuck. _He could feel his eyes glaze over slightly, and suddenly it all became too much.

“Angel?” He managed to squeak out through his constricted windpipe and tugged lightly on the jacket sleeve to his right. Aziraphale was already looking at him with concern and laid a soft hand over his trembling one. “Darling, are you alright?”

Crowley shook his head minutely and his partner immediately understood.

“Right. We’re leaving.” He stood up to gather his coats, note pads, and umbrellas. _Why did he bring two?_

But Crowley winced at that. “Wha- no, that’s not- we don’t have to, it’s not that important. You really wanted to go to this, you called it your top priority for the century!”

Aziraphale, however, had already made up his mind as to their plan of action.

“No book is worth more than your safety, my dear.”

Crowley seemed to be retreating into himself more, digging his heels in both metaphorically and literally, scuffing the cherry wood floor irreparably.

“I’m fine. Really. I’m just- don’t like that word. Hurts.” His chest felt very hollow suddenly, the words herding what little brain cells he had left into a corner like frightened sheep.

The angel nodded slightly in realization.  
“Ah. Well there’s no use in you suffering further.” Crowley scoffed at that. _Bit late for that. _

Aziraphale snapped his fingers and much to the demon’s chagrin they were transported to the bookshop.

“You’re doing that too often,” He lamented. “Really, it’s not worth all this.” _I’m not worth the fuss. _

But Aziraphale wasn’t having it. “Crowley, darling, I’m not letting you descend in on yourself again. Now tell me; how can I help?”

Crowley collapsed on the plush sofa, limbs flailing like a game of pick-up-sticks.

“Don’t need help, I’ll be fine!” He forced his lips into a poor imitation of a smile that would have made a tragedy mask recoil, and although he flapped a hand in an easy air, his voice was shrill and shook.

“You should go back, just leave me here.” _How did she know?? _“It’s fine, it doesn’t matter- I’m being ridiculous, and I don’t want you to miss the book show.”

He drew in a shaky breath and covered his face with his hands. “Can I- can I just be alone for a while?” Crowley let one serpentine eye peek through his spindly fingers at Aziraphale’s unmoving form.

“You don’t have to go back if you don’t want to. You can do whatever you want, I shouldn’t tell you what to do- fuck I’m sorry- I’m-“ Crowley let himself be cut off from his ramblings by the warm touch of the angel’s hand on his, and slowly let himself be revealed to the world again, defenses relaxing slightly.

Aziraphale’s robin’s egg eyes were slightly misty, and the contact soothing. “Dearheart, please don’t be afraid to ask for anything. Although I’m not sure I can leave you completely in good conscience.” Crowley stiffened slightly, which was ridiculous. Why did he react so poorly to the slightest display of disagreement? _Fuck. _

“If it’s what you truly wish I can go away for a while, although I will be in the backroom if you need anything at all.” Aziraphale was looking at him with such tenderness that it made the demon’s heart ache.

Crowley felt tears prick at his eyes and averted his gaze from the angel’s so as not to further worry him.

“Yeah, uh, yeah that’d be okay.” He carefully extracted his hands from the warm grasp they were held in and shied away from comfort. “I just need a few minutes to get my head on right.” _Don’t like that word. Too real. Too much. It was too much. And it hurt and fuck fuck fuck- _

“As you wish, my love. I’ll be right around the corner.” Aziraphale kissed his forehead gently and cast a doubtful glance back at the demon who appeared to be trying to climb into the folds of the sofa and disappear.

* * *

Finally, alone with his thoughts, Crowley huddled against the cushions, eyes squeezed shut and hands trembling slightly. _Why did she have to say that? How did she know? There was no warning- no indication that was where she was headed- fuck, why did she have to talk about that? _He turned over miserably to bury his head in the pillows.

** _Why does a Good God allow evil to persist in the world? Tell me demon, is your existence your punishment, or theirs? _ **

Crowley shuddered at the thought. _I tried to help, I tried. They hurt me for it. They always hurt me for it. But it doesn’t matter, I saved them. _

** _You couldn’t save yourself, pitiful really. _ **

“That doesn’t matter, I saved them. They got away, even if I didn’t.” He gritted out, eyes glazing over and seeing a land long gone and the blistering heat through which the other girls still hugged each other for comfort. They had been so frightened.

** _Have you? Ever gotten away, that is. Because from where I’m standing you never left that tent. _ **

“Shut up shut up shut up-”

** _A noble sacrifice really, yourself for them. But did it matter? Their lives were still plagued with hardship and pain and every suffering your kind inflicted upon them. And what did you get in return? _ **

Crowley let out a weary sigh, and accepted defeat to the burning voice in his head.

_A cattle brand upon my heart. Seared into my every waking moment, carved into my soul. And I cried out to Her, and She said nothing. _“Because… it didn’t matter, I- I didn’t matter.”

Tears were flowing freely at this point down his thin cheeks, melting small holes into the upholstery.

“Why didn’t You help me? I never asked for anything but Patience with me, why was that too much?” _Was I still too much? Was it a punishment, a second Fall? What did I do to deserve such a fate no other demon has earned? Why didn’t You stop him? I cried out for You and You turned away. _

A pale hand reached upwards to the light, grasping at something intangible and invisible to the human eye, but to Crowley his fingers ripped at the sun above him, nails dirty with his blood, unblinking eyes watching God.

“Why do You let them hurt each other? What vengeance could they have earned? What could they possibly do to deserve such pain?” _If I am evil, then what are they, having invented such torture? _

God was silent, and a demon wept openly on an angel’s sofa, keening softly in his distress.

* * *

Aziraphale was in the kitchen making some chamomile tea for himself (none for the demon; he believes chamomile tastes the way that goats smell), and a hot cider for Crowley, with a dash of bourbon in both mugs.

He was trying not to fret incessantly, even though he could hear the soft mourning of the creature Banshee mythology was surely based on. _Maybe I should check in on him soon, he shouldn’t be alone with this. _He pursed his lips in dissatisfaction with that conclusion.

_T__hen again, it’s very important that he feels safe to establish boundaries and know that those wishes will not be disregarded. _Not quite right either. _But that also leads to self-destructive behavior, and he’s more hiding then healing currently, so perhaps I should go to him. But- he also asked specifically to be alone, and in this fragile state the last thing I want to do is betray his trust. So, where does that leave me? _Aziraphale didn’t have to ponder his conundrum for much longer, as over his clamorous thoughts he heard a soft, barely discernable whisper.

“Aziraphale? Could-could you-”

He rushed to his side immediately, and in the large main room Crowley’s wafer-thin form seemed even smaller, and oh, he had managed to wedge himself into the couch.

“Yes, my dear, I’m here.” Aziraphale didn’t know if the demon could see him or not, as his eyes had taken on that vacant appearance and the angel felt a familiar pang of sorrow resonate through his chest. He didn’t know whether to approach his partner or to keep his distance, and found his hands fidgeting uselessly by his sides. “What can I do?”

Crowley finally met his gaze, and although he still looked very small and very scared, he seemed to be present in a way that he hadn’t been in his previous episode. Pale tear tracks like shattered glass painted the demon’s face, and he held out a trembling palm to Aziraphale.

“Could you come here? I-I can’t be alone with this anymore.” His eyes were downtrodden and weary, and for all the world Aziraphale had never seen a creature more worthy of love.

The angel nodded slightly and sat on the plush sofa alongside Crowley and reached out to grasp the demon’s cold hand within his and gently pressed a kiss into the palm. “Crowley, my darling,” he said softly, “tell me what I can do to soothe your pain; do you want to talk about it or be distracted from it?” 

The demon blushed at the romantic gesture and pulled a leg out of the depths of the sofa to rub against the angel’s in a comfort seeking manner. “Dunno. Both, maybe. Just want to know you’re near.” He looked away in embarrassment, still not happy to be seen in such a vulnerable state.

Aziraphale understood, and even though it made his heart ache to see his love so melancholy he forged ahead. “I’m with you Crowley, and I’m not going anywhere,” He shifted closer to the demon so that their shoulders brushed.

The positive effect on Crowley was immediate, and he melted into the touch like a fallen angel food cake, quickly and easily laying his copper head in the angel’s lap. Aziraphale felt his heart warm at the display of trust, proud of how readily Crowley had grown accustomed to being loved and cared for. Tenderly brushing thick fingers through the wavy mane Aziraphale began to gently braid little sections of his partners hair, knowing how relaxed it made him. The soft contented sigh from the demon was all the confirmation he needed that things would turn out alright.

“Crowley?” He whispered quietly into the silent bookshop. “Do you want to talk about anything? We don’t have to.”

The demon nodded his head slightly, still reveling in the gentle and loving touch. “No-no, I can talk about it. Probably best to hear someone else’s opinion besides my own head.” The hands that had laid peacefully on Aziraphale’s knee began to fidget again.

“The speaker… she talked about why a Good God allows evil. And, with that lovely story about Rachel…” He hissed the word ‘lovely’ into the air. “and the stuff about evil being Devine vengeance, I started wondering again if what happened to me was meant to be. My own fault, that is.” The deftly moving fingers gripped the angel’s knee tight suddenly.

“I just- I don’t know that it wasn’t a further punishment, a ‘second Fall’, if you will.” The tears started to fall again. “And, why didn’t She stop him, why wasn’t I worth saving, even as a lowly demon? What had I possibly done to deserve **that**?”

Aziraphale was aghast but didn’t want to make Crowley think he was angry with him, so he simply stroked the demon’s hair with renewed tenderness.

“What was done to me, was an exchange, so that he wouldn’t do it to them. The other girls, that is.” That admission made the tremors come back to wrack his thin frame, and Crowley found himself weeping in excess once more. “Why did any of us deserve that fate? Why would She allow such cruelty?” The hands that had once scrabbled at the dust beneath him now grasped themselves in the angel’s and squeezed tightly.

“Aziraphale? Did I deserve it?” Crowley shifted to stare directly into his partner’s horrorstruck eyes, genuinely pleading for an answer, for any sort of reprieve.

Aziraphale felt his own cheeks grow damp with tears and leaned down to press a loving and deeply sorrowful kiss to the demon’s temple. “No, my Dear One,” He spoke gently, yet firm with a dash of Truth thrown in. “You have never deserved any of the pain that has befell you. Never, never.” He pressed kiss after kiss onto Crowley’s face until the sobs subsided.

Eventually the demon was calm again, and he blinked red-rimmed eyes at the angel, thumb gently caressing the back of Aziraphale’s hand as his partner appeared to be wrestling with himself.

“Aziraphale? What is it?” Crowley’s voice wasn’t shrill anymore, and some of the color had returned to his cheeks.

“I-I wish there was something I could do to make this better, but, oh! I feel so… so horribly useless!” Aziraphale felt that same stabbing pain in his chest, knowing that his love was hurt so badly and so continuously. 

Crowley inhaled deeply and brought a hand up to the angel’s halo of hair above him to press their foreheads together. “You are making it better, just by being here. Holding me. Trust me, angel; you keep me alive.” He smiled for the first time in hours, eyes flickering down to his partner’s lips briefly. “I wouldn’t ask for anything else.”

Aziraphale’s own melancholy was no match for the demon’s love, and he was leaning in to kiss him when a sudden realization crossed his mind.

“Oh! I forgot the tea! Ugh, it’ll be oversteeped by now.”

Crowley wrinkled his nose. “Chamomile? Angel, it isn’t good oversteeped or understeeped. It tastes the way goats smell.”

Aziraphale chuckled quietly to himself. “I know that darling, and that’s why I made you hot cider instead.”

The demon visibly brightened. “Angel, you’re too good to me. With a dash of bourbon, I hope?”

“Of course, my dear. I know what you like.” Aziraphale nodded and wiggled slightly in happiness.

Crowley grinned blissfully at the angel. “Oh yeah?” he whispered. “What do I like?”

Aziraphale arched an eyebrow and leaned down to kiss Crowley softly, hands leaving braided hair to cup his protruding cheekbones gently. Crowley let out a low moan of happiness and pushed himself upwards to tug the angel down with him while deepening the kiss, only he miscalculated how stable they were geometrically, and the pair tumbled sideways onto the floor.

“Oof!” Crowley wheezed as he landed half on top of Aziraphale. “Sorry about that.”

For all that the demon said he was sorry, his laughing eyes betrayed his joy.

Aziraphale looped an arm over his partner’s waspish waist, love-drunk on the contact of their bodies. “Dearheart, while you know I’m amenable to continuing this, our drinks grow colder by the second. Might I suggest we reconvene later?”

Crowley barked out a laugh. “You make our sofa make-out sessions sound so clinical.” He grasped the angel’s hand lightly in his own and helped him to his feet. “But you’re right, and after the morning we just had, I could use a drink. Or eight.”

Realization dawned in Aziraphale. “Is that what started this? Caffeine overdose?”

Crowley groaned in mock annoyance. “Yeah, yeah, I know, I mucked that one up.”

“Ugh, I really do need to start paying better attention to how you take care of yourself.”

Crowley snorted. “You can start by showing me the way to the alcohol. _Pip-pip.” _He teased and pressed another kiss to the angel’s mouth.

Aziraphale hummed softly and pulled back to lead Crowley to the kitchen.

“You know, we have got to work on your soul care-” “it’s self-care-” “techniques.”

Miraculously, the tea and cider were still hot to the touch, and the chamomile was perfectly steeped. They sat beside each other and sipped from their mugs contentedly.

“To the little miracles, then?” Aziraphale’s eyes sparkled with mirth, and his rosy lips quirked upwards in jest.

Crowley glanced down at their entwined fingers, and felt a rush of happiness jolt through him, better than any drink.

“To the little miracles, angel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been having a bad™ time again (my professor is an asshole and doesn't think before he speaks), and i could really use some comfort and belief that the Goddesses weren't punishing me, so here I am.  
Please tell me if you liked it, knowing that someone else cares means the world to me.


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